Column: Boston resident learned of lockdown from Lenoir County man

Wednesday

Apr 24, 2013 at 12:01 AMApr 24, 2013 at 7:36 PM

Free Press award-winning columnist Jon Dawson shares his memories of good friends and the Boston bombing

Jon Dawson / Columnist

I — like everyone — have an opinion on the Boston bombings so I won’t bore you with it. No matter what any of us think, say or type, there are always going to be cowards who are easily manipulated by crackpots.

One of my best friends in the world lives in Arlington, Mass., which was one of the communities locked down last week during the ensuing coward-hunt. His name is Corey Daniels; we met while working at the library at East Carolina University. Like me, he has a wife that’s too good-looking to be with him and two spirited children.

Corey and I bonded over music, British comedy and David Lynch films. Whenever a Lynch film came out, Corey and I — along with a merry band of fellow putzes — would load into a car and head to the Rialto Theater in Raleigh. The closest a David Lynch film ever got to playing in Eastern North Carolina was when the plane carrying it to the Triangle area flew over Greenville. “Fire Walk With Me” did make it to Greenville, but we won’t speak of that abomination.

During Corey’s time in N.C., I estimate I helped him move around 37 times. If there is a second story apartment in Pitt County, there’s a good chance slivers of my vertebrae — along with chunks of his massive TV — are still embedded in the outer brick walls. During one of his moves to an apartment in Durham, we had to get that TV up three flights of stairs that were apparently designed with pygmies and pixies in mind.

Honest to goodness, if you stood in the middle of those steps and opened your wallet, it would touch both walls.

I begin updating Kinston.com every weekday at 7 a.m. After a few seconds of scouring the AP, I noticed a report stating certain areas around Boston had been locked down. Usually, Corey and I talk on the phone during his drive home from work around 5 p.m. I don’t think we’d spoken to each other at 7 a.m. since the time we drove all night to see King Crimson in Tennessee back in 1996, but this seemed like a good reason to call.

“Hey man, you up?” I said. “Do you know Arlington is under a lockdown?”

“Mom?” Corey asked.

“Corey, it’s Jon,” I said. “The police are looking for that *****le in your neighborhood and you’re not supposed to leave the house.”

“We just got up; Melanie is checking the Internet … oh man, we are locked down,” he said.

“Okay, well I gotta get back to work; just wanted to make sure you knew,” I said.

“Yeah, man, we appreciate it,” Corey said.

“Yeah, well, up yours,” I said. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

(Don’t misinterpret that little jab at the end of the call there. It’s commonplace for males to show their admiration for each other through vicious verbal jabs. Whenever Corey asks a question and I say “I’ll have to think about it,” he usually advises me not to hurt myself. If I were to reference the time his mother dropped him off at school and she was given a ticket for littering, he knows it’s coming straight from the heart.”)

While watching the coverage of the standoff between the *****le coward and the police on TV later that night, I tried to imagine how my friend felt to know a shootout could commence in the vicinity of his home at any second. I started to call him, but I figured he was busy with the kids and being a veteran he was probably trying to stay focused on his surroundings. After a few hours they yanked the coward from a boat and the hunt was over.

I’ll be talking to Corey this afternoon and I’m sure the events of last week will pop up in the conversation. After probably two minutes, we’ll shift to the weekly “gotten any good albums lately” discussion and we’ll be off to the races. Any CIA operatives who may be eavesdropping on our conversation would most likely prematurely retire due to boredom.

The youth of the 1960s wanted to break free of the perceived blandness of the 1950s, while the adults of the 1950s were just trying to recover from the terror of WWII. Properly channeled excitement is fantastic, but after last week’s bombings and the explosion in Texas, I’m in the mood for normalcy.

To be bored for a few days would be grand.

I’m going to unplug from reality this afternoon and try to convince Corey he should check out the new album by Clinic and that David Lee Roth couldn’t sing his way out of a wet paper bag. He’ll probably take my advice on the Clinic album but refuse to admit that Diamond Dave is a carnival barker with a tin ear.

If you’re feeling a little overwhelmed here lately, my suggestion is to call an old friend and revive whatever old arguments you used to have on a regular basis. There is something comforting about jawing at someone you know will still be your buddy when the argument is over.

Jon Dawson’s columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at 252-559-1092 or Jon.Dawson@kinston.com. Purchase books, music and David Lee Roth ego extenders at jondawson.com.